Wars at Home

Time flew by and before I knew it, I was attending Thomas and Marianne's wedding reception.

It was unbelievable that my son was old enough to be a married man. But at the same time, it didn't feel that strange. After the events of the last year, I couldn't think of Thomas as a child any longer. He was a man.

I knew he and Marianne would be fine. I just couldn't get over how quickly time had flown by. It seemed like only yesterday that he was toddling around the house, getting into mischief.

This was the first time I really felt old. Andrew and I had started our family while we were young, and I still had young children, so I'd never succumbed to that kind of thinking before. But having a son old enough to be married, made me old enough to be a grandmother. And that wasn't something I could ignore.

I think it only truly bothered me because Andrew wasn't here to grow old with me. I was completely alone.

I watched Thomas from my spot at the table across the room, as he lead Marianne out to the middle of the floor for another dance. His limp had become less noticeable, but it was something he'd carry with him forever.

And it was something I'd grown immensely grateful for. It was because of that limp that he was alive. He'd taken a bullet in his leg, causing him to collapse and miss worse fire that might have killed him. He passed out shortly after that and woke up in an army hospital, discharged from service.

He wouldn't tell me more specific details, not wanting me to have to picture it for the rest of my life, but Samuel and Andrew were killed on the last day of the war, when the army was pushing for an even greater victory. Samuel had put himself in danger to save other men, and Andrew reflexively tried to shield him.

My only consolation was that Andrew didn't have to live with the knowledge that he was unable to protect his son. Had he lived, he would have tortured himself for the rest of his life, wishing he were dead.

"No dancing?" John took the empty seat beside me, pulling me from my thoughts.

Finally able to do it, I gave him a small smile. "Not for us old ladies."

I'd come to realize that those melancholy thoughts would never be far from my mind, but they didn't sting quite as much anymore. It was more sadness than suffocating pain now, and I was starting to be able to smile and laugh again.

John laughed at me. "You're not old."

I watched him doubtfully, pulling another chuckle from him.

"Thomas is only nineteen, Kathryn. That doesn't make you old. Besides, you're younger than I am, and I'm most certainly not old. So you can't be."

I smiled and shook my head at his logic. "He'll be twenty in no time. And can you honestly tell me you don't feel old knowing you could be a grandfather in the very near future?"

I'd meant it as a reference to the fact that Emily, who was only a little younger than Thomas, was being courted and was thinking about marriage too. But it sounded like I was referring to the fact that Thomas was his son. Something I never openly did because it brought our indiscretion of the past to my mind.

I blushed and cleared my throat, glancing quickly around the room, hoping he wouldn't follow where my mind had gone.

Judging by the way his eyes laughed at me when I looked at him again, he undoubtedly knew what I was thinking.

He smirked at my discomfiture. "Well, neither of us are grandparents yet, so quit aging me." He stood up and held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

"Since when do you like dancing?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I never said I liked it," he said. "But how many times will we have the opportunity to dance at our son's wedding?" He grinned, expecting the renewed rush of color to my face.

I tried to glare at him, but couldn't help smiling at his impishness. I rarely saw this side of him anymore. Things had been so serious for so long. It was nice to see the old John again.

Choosing not to answer, I took his hand and let him lead me out to the dance floor. He may not have liked dancing, but I loved it. And it felt nice to be able to do something carefree for a change.

We had just taken our positions for the lively music playing, when the song ended. The following notes signaled the beginning of a considerably less energetic waltz.

I smirked at John, knowing he could tolerate the more upbeat songs, but he hated the slower ones. He said they made him feel clumsy and like his feet were too big. I was sure he intentionally picked the previous song for that reason.

After a few seconds, my smile faded when John didn't return it and act the martyr the way I expected. Instead, he stiffly put his hand on my waist and began leading me in the dance.

I watched him as we moved around the floor, wondering where his jovial mood went. He wasn't angry, but he seemed so serious and intense.

As we made another turn, understanding dawned in my mind when I realized that I'd seen that look in his eyes before, long ago. Thomas had been the result.

I dropped my gaze to his shoulder, my face warming and my stomach giving an uncomfortable flip. Suddenly I was much too close to him and the dance seemed like a very bad idea.

It wasn't just the way he was looking at me that was so unsettling. It was the feelings that look stirred in me. Feelings that I'd thought were long buried.

How could this be happening? I hadn't thought of John that way in a very long time.

What kind of horrible person was I to even be thinking this? I loved Andrew and wanted him to be here more than anything in the world. How could I betray him like this?

We stiffly finished the dance and I didn't dare meet John's eyes again. When the music stopped, I pulled free of his grasp and, as inconspicuously as possible, moved off the dance floor, all but running away from him.